A Thousand and One Nights
by Silvertongued Dreams
Summary: As it turns out, Loki's dark memories aren't the only things keeping him company. Dark!Loki/OC. Rated T. Set Post-Avengers to Thor 2. SLIGHT AU.
1. Whispers in the Dark

_**A Thousand and One Nights**_

_Chapter One:  
_Whispers in the Dark

It was a beautiful morning. One of the most beautiful ones I can remember. But maybe that is because that morning was the last one I could remember being free to watch the sun as it rose high in the sky.

_Manhattan_. I'd always wanted to visit. Being brought up in a home with an Indian mother and a stuffy Royal Navy officer in a penthouse in suburban London had made me feel trapped my whole life. I had an adventurous spirit. I wanted to _explore_. My first step was to move out of my family home to attend Oxford University, where I had just finished with honors: graduating third in my class with a major in Political Science and a Minor in English.

And since then, I had found a job, working for a man in the government, and I had been living here for nearly a month. It paid well, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

_Life was good._

But, not for long.

* * *

"Hello, Miss Fairbanks! What'll it be today?" asked an cheerful young man who stood behind a stand that sold various flavors of hot coffee. He gestured to the various coffee urns, indicating that I was the first customer of the day, and I could pick what flavor I would like him to prepare first.

I thought for a moment: pressing a finger thoughtfully on my chin. "Hmm… I think a mocha-caramel swirl will do nicely. Iced, please, with cream and sugar." I gave him a playful wink before adding, "And please, call me Esha."

He scoffed in an attempt to restrain a chuckle. "Haha, yeah, I guess we kinda should be on a first name business. After all, we are seeing each other."

I raised an eyebrow at the young man as he handed me my coffee: an amused look in my eyes. "There, there, now. Don't make more of it than it is. I just happen to really like your coffee." And then, as I took a sip through the thick, striped straw in the plastic cup containing the heavenly beverage, I closed my eyes and moaned lightly as I let the taste seep into my taste buds. A perfect blend of whipped cream topping with caramel syrup and the mocha flavor of the coffee always lifted my spirits each morning.

"… And, I never tire of your reaction," the salesman smirked before looking at me expectantly.

It took me a moment to register what was going on, but then I shrugged out of my little trance and gasped. "Oh! Sorry about that. Here's your money. Have a blessed day!" I glanced at my watch, and realized that I was late for work. _Again_. And I always got yelled at when I was late.

Which made me wonder—why _hadn't_ my boss called?

_Well, never mind_—_don't look a gift horse in the mouth, _I told myself, mustering up all my energy to, despite all odds, _sprint_ in my high-heeled Gucci shoes.

But, before I got very far, five very official-looking individuals, dressed in black, stopped right in front of me: led by a rather disgruntled-looking redhead. I did not like the looks of them.

Not knowing what to say, I fumbled for words. "Errrm, can I _help you?"_

As though my words had somehow set her off, the redhead responded mechanically by flashing out a badge and waving it almost in front of my face. "I am Agent Natasha Romanoff of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, otherwise known as S.H.I.E.L.D. By the authority vested in me by the power of the United States' Government, I hereby place you under arrest."

"What?! What are you saying?! Are you _crazy?! _What are you doing?!" I shrieked as one of the men tore my iced coffee out of my hands, while two others with dark sunglasses and wireless ear devices grabbed me by the arms and forced me against the hood of a nearby car, then turned me over and handcuffed me. The metal burned deep into my wrists.

"What's going on?" I returned through gritted teeth. I can get very bratty when I don't know what is going on.

Miss Romanoff scoffed. "Oh, please. Don't act so coy."

"Your boss has been murdered," one of the men volunteered.

I gasped.

"You're problems are only just beginning, sweetheart," Natasha crooned. "Surveillance cameras saw you in his office just minutes before he was found, bringing in a tray of food. Food that has since been tested for poison. The results were positive." She paused, taking me in. "You look like you're a smart girl, so let's just cut to the chase. You're _not_ getting out of this." With these words, she snapped her fingers. "Let's bring her to Nick Fury, and after that, it's on to a higher court."

I gulped nervously as the men shoved me forward, and looked back with a frown as I saw the man who had taken my iced coffee away throw it onto the sidewalk with a big splash.

* * *

I didn't understand. I didn't understand why I was being hauled away to a high-security prison in an entirely different realm—then again, nothing was the same since the invasion. Security everywhere had been tightened significantly after the attack on Manhattan—S.H.I.E.L.D. made sure of that. From then on out, anyone accused of a treasonous crime was shipped off to Asgard for imprisonment. And I? I had been accused of the murder of my boss, who turned out to be one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s head agents.

And so now, I find myself here, alone with the darkness. It is a horrifying thing. To be left truly alone, engulfed in the darkness, unprotected—exposed like a nerve to the cold and the agony of the harshest winter I have ever known.

Being a patriot, nowadays, has its price. It is the ultimate price. I was not there when Manhattan was under siege, yet being of foreign descent, I was one of the first to be shipped to Asgard. But now, in light of all that has happened to me in the months after my arrest, being accused of a crime I did not commit seems far less strange in comparison.

I'd get so lonely, that I would whisper sweet words to the darkness.

And the strange thing is, it _always_ answered back.

And that voice alone is what kept my heart beating, because it was all that I had left.

* * *

**Hello, dear readers! Long time, no see! Well, I decided I'd try my hand at something utterly unique, and I hope that you will pardon this chapter's shortness, but it **_**is**_** more of a prologue. Anyway, this cryptic first segment is just a teaser for what is forthcoming. This **_**will**_** start out as a Dark!Loki/OC friendship, then, in the last few chapters, flow into a gradual 'romance'.**

**Anyway, I hope you liked it! If you did, please leave me a **review**! But be warned that I DO NOT accept anonymous reviews (unless I know the person who is submitting them in real life, and they have told me ahead of time that they will reviewing in this manner.), so if you are a member, PLEASE **_log in_** first. Thank you and sorry ahead of time for the inconvenience.**


	2. Through a Tainted Mirror

**AN./ **Hi there, I just wanted to thank everyone who reviewed the first chapter of _'A Thousand and One Nights'._ Thanks for the positive feedback! I promise you, this is going to be an exciting ride. Now, buckle your seatbelts! This is going to be a trip you won't soon forget… at least, I hope so. **;D**

By the way, part of this chapter (Black Widow's flashback) used to be a one-shot called _Through a Tainted Mirror, _and the story was insanely popular on here. I pulled it, regretted it afterwards, and then, I decided it would fit perfectly in this chapter… so, I hope you enjoy it. The flashback will switch between Natasha and Loki's POV's, just so you won't be confused, and also, explores the amazing BlackFrost pairing. **xD**

Also**—**members who have followed/favorited my story, **thank you for your actions, but PLEASE, take the time to leave me a ****review****. **Thanks for understanding! Reviews are love: every one is treasured. **:-)**

God bless,

~ Silvertongued Dreams

* * *

_Chapter Two:  
_Through a Tainted Mirror

_**S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters, Manhattan, NY.**_

Agent Natasha Romanoff shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other as she waited in the conference room for Nick Fury to arrive. Clint Barton stood beside her, watching her with an almost amused smirk, but he did not chuckle given the situation. This was only the second time in their entire acquaintance that he had ever seen his friend truly nervous. _Nervous_. There was no denying it.

Natasha had taken this all very hard. Esha's boss, Agent Fowler had been not only one of the most influential undercover S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in the entire force, but he had been a good friend. He had been one of the few to believe in her when Barton had brought her in for training—one of the few to look beyond her past and invest wholeheartedly in her future. And now, he was gone.

The look of shock on Esha's face was burned in Natasha's mind. Could she really be innocent? Heck, no, not bloody likely! There was too much evidence against her. She had gone through that surveillance footage a thousand times since she'd apprehended the girl. Poisoning was one of the oldest methods of killing in the book. Professional acting was one of the oldest professions in history. So, what was the problem? Esha Fairbanks was her only suspect—S.H.I.E.L.D. had interrogated the rest of the staff, and they all seemed stunned. More than ever, the redhead wished that it was as simple as the old cliché: 'The Butler Did It'. Natasha scoffed, frustrated. She never doubted her gut, but for some reason, today, she was.

Maybe it was because she was too close to the case. Or, maybe it was because of what Loki had said to her. Those words had stuck in her mind, and they would not go away. Words of doubt, words spoken in anger—an anger she could fully sympathize with.

"_Natasha?"_ Clint's gentle voice sounded like an echo in a far-off corridor.

But it was of no use. As she closed her eyes, her mind flew back to a month previous, when her world had become all but undone.

* * *

_**One Month Earlier, just outside Loki's Holding Cell…**_

_Perhaps _this_ is what they meant, _thought Natasha Romanoff as she peered through the glass window that shielded her from the view of the vicious, but, nonetheless, visually stunning Norse demigod, Loki, _when they dubbed the Asgardians as gods and warriors in the days of old. He is clearly no more than a normal man_—_a sad, sad man, whose beauty lies within his age-long pain. Perhaps _that_ is why he is called a god. _

Natasha drummed her fingers agitatedly against the thick pane of glass separating her from the compartment where Loki was, at present, being held. Fury had asked her to go in and 'talk with' the stubborn being from another realm, but right now, the fearless Agent Romanoff could not find it within her heart to do so. She knew that she was supposed to negotiate with him—to squeeze out information on his plans with the Tesseract by any means possible, but, for the first time in years, she found she could not move.

In those extraordinary eyes, she saw a mirror reflection of herself, years upon years ago. Back in Russia, when she had been working for the wrong side, because she had felt so lost and purposeless. _Yes,_ that's what it was. He was what she once was: no more than a reflected in a tainted mirror.

With a somewhat heavy sigh, Natasha ran her hands through her bobbed red hair, and let her mind wander some more. While she understood why Loki would be so bitter, after being pushed aside by his real father, then somewhat neglected and _lied to _by the man who'd raised him—why was it only _now_ that his hurt simmered into this crazed madness: a madness that threatened all of the Nine Realms? The river of hurt in Loki's soul was pouring out of him like a wound, now: red, always red, like the innocent blood he had already shed on his visit to Earth.

_He is a dangerous man,_ Agent Romanoff noted as she slightly shifted her position and stared more intently at the prisoner, who was, at present, sitting down on the bench in his glass prison: his head buried in his large hands. Ah, was that a tear she spied? Surely not. But as Natasha peered closer: pressing her small nose against the pane of glass in front of her, she saw that she had not been mistaken. _A_—_A_ broken… _man. He cannot be as evil as they say, _she convinced herself as she continued to look at the shattered life before her. She was tough: she was an agent of the highest order of S.H.I.E.L.D., yet she her heart could not help but wrench every time she looked at Thor's 'brother', the lost prince. Why did he have to be so relatable? She wanted to go to him, to pull him close—to be a friend to him when everyone else would have run away, and tell him, in ever-so-assuring words, that he would be all right: that someone _did_ care about him, and that all could eventually be forgiven if he would just turn from this dark path he had chosen. But, alas, her better judgment warned her against such actions. _I must not get involved,_ the Black Widow muttered to herself—and almost as if he sensed her thinking about him, Loki lifted his head and turned to her: a wane smile scarcely hiding the fresh tear still on his pale cheek.

"—Miss Romanoff?" came the unexpected voice of Steven Rogers as he brushed past her, to the stainless-steel espresso machine behind her.

"Oh, erm—hello, Captain America," Natahsa replied. _Darn_. Her voice sounded huskier than she thought it would.

"Are you all right?" Steven replied: his brow arching with a bit of concern as he spooned a little bit of sugar into his double-espresso.

"No. I mean, yes. I mean… oh, _heck,"_ Natasha returned in exasperated tones as she sat down in the chair by the espresso machine. It was then that her gaze dared to shift towards Loki again: to her great surprise, he was still staring at her—his gaze boring through the wall of glass like an all-consuming fire of green. "Nobody should have to look like that. Even _him."_

Upon her words, Captain America followed her gaze and saw exactly what she meant. No matter what façade Loki had put on with the Avengers when he had been captured, he was so, so insecure. In his mind, he was still so small, helpless, and insecure, like the Frost Giant babe he had been when Odin rescued him from the Joutün temple.

"You know, he doesn't look anything like I thought he would," Steve mused. "When I heard about this new 'world threat'—I imagined someone as ferocious and heartless as the Red Skull I battled during World War II. This man—he's hurting. And he doesn't know what to do with all this anger and hurt he's kept bottled up inside him."

"My sentiments exactly," Romanoff returned, gently biting her lower lip as she delved deeper into thought. Her voice then lowered to a barely audible whisper, and Steve had to lean into her to hear what she was saying. "Fury wants me to talk to him."

Captain America raised his eyebrow once again. "Now?" He paused a moment, looking back at Loki. "Are you sure you're ready, Miss Romanoff?"

"I've handled much harder cases than him," Natasha returned almost dismissively. "It—It's just that he's so _relatable_ to me that makes this more difficult than anything else I've ever been assigned to do."

The look on Steven's face showed that he wanted to ask why he was so 'relatable', but he knew better than to ask her that. Natasha prided herself on her nerves of steel, and he felt that if he dared to infringe on her confidence, she just might snap when he knew she didn't want to.

Moments passed with nothing but silence, and it was then, and then only, that Steven realized that she would not be speaking again anytime soon. And with that in mind, he quietly picked up his cup and retreated to Banner's lab.

* * *

_**At the same time…**_

_These stupid, _pathetic_ mortals!_ Loki thought with a resentful smirk as he ground his boot against the floor of his glass cage. No, _not_ his cage, but the cage of a monster. _But, no_—_I _am_ a monster; I cannot forget that. They think that I do not see them: that a mere 'wall' of blurred glass can hide them from me, but nay_—_not only can I _see_, but I can crawl, ever so intimately, into their minds, and read what thoughts are written there. But what use is my magic here? Without my staff, I am powerless: a prisoner to this advanced Midgardian technology. _The Asgardian prince formed tight fists with his hands—partially relieving the frustration—and his knuckles turned ash-white. Although he was loath to admit it, the fact that he had been bound by those accused… _Avengers_ was not what had him so utterly cross. No, no. It was something else entirely. Thor… and his impromptu meeting with him not long before… had ignited a sort of guilt that he had not felt in a very long time, and then, he realized: How did it all come to this? _I cannot forget the All-Father's words: those haunting words that changed me forever. The words that demeaned me from a misplaced prince to a heartless monster. I never knew that I could be a monster_—_I always thought myself thoughtful. _Loki sighed heavily. _I always thought I was the one people could go to with their troubles: even though I _was_ the god of Mischief: the god of Lies_—_the dreaded 'Silvertongue'. Such an overblown exaggeration, really. Now, I hardly know who I am: what I am doing here. Was Thor right? Were my slights merely imagined? Did my family really love me? Ah_—_what does it matter now? I'm not even sure I matter: perhaps that is why it is so important to me that I take the world as my prize and prove myself worthy of the love I was deprived of._

Loki looked up for a moment, and locked gazes with Natasha, forcing a weak smile. _So pretty for a mortal,_ he thought to himself. _Ah, the poor soul: she's actually _sorry_ for me. But why would she feel sorry… for such a beast as me?_

For that one moment, both Natasha and Loki's hearts had merged as one with mutual understanding. She had once been in his shoes… and he could only hope, that, one day, he could wander path to the good path. The righteous path. The path that Thor and Odin would respect him for.

_Perhaps, someday,_ Loki told himself, as the lone tear on soaked into his cheek and disappeared. Lost and confused, and convinced things could never again turn for the better, he sighed yet again, and thought, at the last, _But now, I fear, that day is far off on my horizon. _

* * *

_**Back in the Present**_

Natasha sighed heavily as she drew back into a proper sitting position. She hadn't realized how much she'd slumped when she went into deep thought. Her arms had been crossed on the tabletop, and now, her elbows were feeling it. With a groan, she leaned back and stretched, and looking up, she saw Barton smiling down at her.

"Had sweet dreams, did you, Princess?" he teased with a smile. _Gosh, she looks like she could use a laugh._

"Ugh, shut up, Barton," she retorted dryly, to which Barton chuckled. With yet another sigh, she closed her eyes and massaged her temples. "How long was I out?"

"About ten minutes or so," he replied. Seeing the note of concern on her face, he then quickly added: "And don't worry, you're hair and makeup are good."

She chuckled softly, despite herself. But the mirthful moment was soon broken.

"—Agent Romanoff," came the stern, commanding voice of Director Nick Fury. "You wanted to see me?"

The Black Widow shot upright. "Yes, Director Fury. We need to talk."

* * *

**And… ta-da! Sorry for breaking it off like this, but you will find out more in the next chapter.**

**Anyway, thanks once again for reading! Please **R&R, **and thank you **_**ever so much**_** for stopping by!**


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